cried. "The Missouri!"

"Look at the horses!" she exclaimed. "They see it, too!" The animals
stood with ears cocked forward, and dirt-caked nostrils distended,
gazing into the south. Endicott sprang to his slicker, and producing
the flask, saturated his handkerchief with the thick red liquid. He
tried to sponge out the mouths and noses of the horses but they drew
back, trembling and snorting in terror.

"Why, it's blood!" cried the girl, her eyes dilated with horror. "From
the horse that died," explained Endicott, as he tossed the rag to the
ground.

"But, the water--surely there was water in the flask last night!"
Then, of a sudden, she understood. "You--you fed it to me in my
sleep," she faltered. "You were afraid I would refuse, and that was my
dream!"

"Mind over matter," reminded Endicott, with a distortion of his
bleeding lips that passed for a grin. Again he fumbled in his slicker
and withdrew the untouched can of tomatoes. He cut its cover as he had
seen Tex do and extended it to the girl. "Drink some of this, and if
the horses hold out we will reach the river in a couple of hours."

"I believe it's growing a little cooler since that awful wind went
down," she said, as she passed the can back to Endicott. "Let's push
on, the horses seem to know there is water ahead. Oh, I hope they can
make it!"

"We can go on a-foot if they can't," reassured the man. "It is not